Santa Claus was the same rotund, pudgy old fellow—­with the long white beard and the laughing face—­that children love, and on his broad back was the proverbial pack of presents.  His wife, in fur from head to foot, wore a frilled fur cap, and, safely hidden behind her spectacled, rosy-cheeked mask, looked the veritable mother of all the little Santa Clauses attributed to her.  The children stood silently by in their picturesque costumes, looking round the room, as children will, while their father and mother conversed with the host and hostess.

Finally they were all seated, and Madam Santa Claus began in quite a motherly way to talk about her children.

“It’s Polly Dudley,” whispered Mrs. Tenney to Mrs. Prindle.  “I know her voice.  And I’m pretty sure that little one is Doodles.  Don’t they look funny?”

They were all clad in red and white.  The girls wore scarlet frocks reaching almost to the floor, with short white fur coats, and caps to match.  The boys had long red trousers, and coats like those of their sisters.  As they looked around on the company they bore a strong resemblance to their parents, with their rosy cheeks and laughing lips.

“I had to leave most of the children at home,” the mother was saying.  “Lambkin is too young to come out such a cold night, so Eagle stayed to take care of her; and at the very last minute Monkey broke his arm, and of course Brother couldn’t come without his twin.  It only served Monkey right, he’s so careless—­though I’m not quite sure that it is Monkey!  I never can tell those boys apart.”  Mother Santa Claus wagged her head cheerfully.  “Then, Mousey and Deer have sore throats, and I thought the rest had better stay and keep the sick ones company.  They’ll have a good Christmas Eve all together, even if they are sick.”

“Please, can I take off my coat?” asked one of the girls, coming to her mother’s side.

“Not yet, Starling.  Sit down and be quiet!”

“Your children have unusual names,” twinkled the host gravely.

“That’s what people say,” the mother returned.  “But we simply name them according to their characteristics.  This one,” nodding to the girl who had just gone back to her seat, “we call Starling, because she talks so much, and her sister there is Dove, because she is so gentle.  Squirrel is the nimblest of them all and he is never still a minute.  See him wiggling round now!  This little one,” reaching out a hand to the smallest of the four, “is Lark. because he sings so sweetly.—­Can’t you sing your new carol, dear?”

So the youngest of the Santa Clauses stood up obediently and sung a beautiful Christmas song about the Baby Christ.  The applause was long and insistent.

“He’ll sing again for you pretty soon,” promised Mother Santa Claus.  “I think father is ready to distribute the presents now.  Come, children, run along and help him, and mind you all step lively!”